


so we came to february

by pocky_slash



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom, X-Treme X-Men
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece & Rome, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Breakfast, Bronze Age, Canon - Comics, Canon Disabled Character, Cooking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Ficlet Collection, Holding Hands, Ice Cream, Kid Fic, Kissing, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Recreational Drug Use, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-11-28 18:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Charles/Erik ficlets written daily during the first twenty-five days of February.</p><p><b>New 2.25.12:</b> Chapter 8: Post-beach mutant school AU: There are baby mutants and breakfast food and kisses.<br/>Chapter 9: Modern, powered AU: Erik's known this was coming for a long time. He's scared, but that doesn't mean he's not looking forward to it.<br/>Chapter 10: Modern, non-powered AU: Charles and Erik talk and smoke and make out.<br/>Chapter 11: Modern, college AU: When Charles disappears in the middle of a party, Erik can’t help but want to offer comfort, even though Charles is definitely not his boyfriend. Totally. Not at all. And Erik likes it that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. holding hands

**Author's Note:**

> So, in order not to totally burn out post-big bang, I decided to try and keep up the writing habit, even if my brain wasn't ready for more intense epics XD I took the [30 days of OTP](http://ericandy.tumblr.com/post/26596382488/ericandys-30-day-otp-challenge) fanart challenge on tumblr, modified it for my needs (ie: took out the prompts that were drawing-based or that were tropes I don't write) and made myself a list of 25 prompts for the first twenty-five days in February.
> 
> Not all twenty-five will be here. Of the first eight, three were Daycare Verse and two were Old Retired Dudes and those will be in their own separate collections at the end of the month, so as not to mess with people who are subscribed to those series. In the mean time, I'll be arching the rest here about once a week until I'm done.
> 
> If you want to keep up in real time, follow [this tag on my LJ](http://pocky-slash.livejournal.com/tag/25%20days%20of%20otp) or [this tag on my tumblr](http://fourteenacross.tumblr.com/tagged/25-days-of-OTP).
> 
> But, yes. Enjoy?
> 
> (Oh, PS: none of these stories (thus far) are half as sad as the title of this collection would make you think they are.)
> 
> So far:  
> A collection of Charles/Erik ficlets written daily during the first twenty-five days of February.  
> Chapter 1: Canon-based mansion fic: Charles and Erik hold hands.  
> Chapter 2: College AU: Making out in bed on a snow day.  
> Chapter 3: Modern AU: Charles is terrible at laundry.  
> Chapter 4: Erik is irritated that his daughter keeps running away. Charles informs him that the more commonly accepted definition of these escapades is “play date.”  
> Chapter 5: Modern, powered AU: Erik and Charles do the crossword together, but not on purpose.  
> Chapter 6: Modern, non-powered AU: Charles’ relationship with Gabrielle has gone stale. It has nothing to do with the boy he met at last week’s party, but the timing is superb.  
> Chapter 7: greek-god-bronze-age-steampunk AU (or--X-Treme X-Men, issues 2-3): In which Magnus builds and then destroys a life without reliance on the gods.  
>  Chapter 8: Post-beach mutant school AU: There are baby mutants and breakfast food and kisses.  
> Chapter 9: Modern, powered AU: Erik's known this was coming for a long time. He's scared, but that doesn't mean he's not looking forward to it.  
> Chapter 10: Modern, non-powered AU: Charles and Erik talk and smoke and make out.  
> Chapter 11: Modern, college AU: When Charles disappears in the middle of a party, Erik can’t help but want to offer comfort, even though Charles is definitely not his boyfriend. Totally. Not at all. And Erik likes it that way.

Charles wishes arguments were as easy in real life as they were in fiction. In the silly romances that Raven was prone to watching (Charles just watched because he had nothing better to do, _really_ , he wasn't actually _interested_ in that sort of thing), when a couple had a big blow out fight, once they apologized, everything was alright and they went straight for the kissing.

Charles has apologized and so has Erik. And it's clear that Erik understands what he did wrong, why his accusation was hurtful. It's clear he's remorseful and that he didn't actually intend to hurt Charles. Charles forgives him. 

But.

The hurt hasn't just melted away. His anger, stoked slowly over the course of the day until they talked about it and Erik apologized properly, is still tumbling through his veins with no proper outlet. He hasn't stopped being upset, he just has no good reason to vent that upset at Erik, so now he's left wandering around the house, itching like his skin doesn't fit right.

He ends up in the living room. There's a movie on, one of Raven's sappy romances, but all of the children are lounging about watching it anyway. It could have something to do with the wind and rain outside, or it could be that he's not the only one among them with a soft spot for happy endings. Erik is there too, sitting on the sofa with a book open, not paying much attention to what's happening on screen. Charles, after hesitating in the doorway, enters the room and sits next to him.

He feels like he should say something, but Raven is certain to scold him for interrupting their movie and, regardless, there's nothing to say, is there? They've said what they need to. They've come to an agreement. And tomorrow, probably, Charles will wake up and feel silly for holding onto this, the last of it leeching out of his system with rest and time and the feeling of Erik's body curled next to his in sleep.

He tries to focus on the screen. There's been some silly misunderstanding between the lovers and they're only now realizing their previous assumptions about each other were wrong. It would be trite if it wasn't so on the nose.

Just as he's thinking that perhaps he should have stayed in his study, he sees Erik raise a hand to flip a page. When he lowers his hand, though, he doesn't put it back on his lap--he reaches across the sofa and takes Charles' hand in his own. He doesn't even look up. 

It would maybe be juvenile or abrupt for anyone else. Charles has never been the type to wander down the streets holding someone's hand--in fact, he used to make his opinions of such practices quite known to Raven. The need to show off, rub it in the faces of those around you that you're in a relationship, as if that somehow makes you better. He feels foolish for those judgements now. He understands. It's not a matter of showing off, it's a matter of affection. Of the pleasure of touch. Feeling Erik's fingers woven together with his makes him happy and centers him and reminds him that arguments come and go, but Erik is sorry and Erik cares about him and Erik will be more cautious in the future.

It's not about rubbing it in the faces of the rest of the world, it's about reminding himself that he's not alone.

He doesn't speak. He strokes Erik's thumb with his own and squeezes his hand. His skin still doesn't fit right and he's still listlessly unsettled, but this is a good first step in getting back to normal.


	2. kissing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> College AU. There's a snow day. Erik has plans for that snow day.

Charles wakes when Erik sits up, jostling the blankets just enough to let in the cold air.

"Stop that," Charles murmurs, blindly seeking out Erik's arm to pull him back under the covers.

"Hold on," Erik says, and then a moment later he's bundled down next to Charles again. "I just want to check--yes!"

Charles cracks an eye open and rolls onto his other side so he's facing Erik, who's holding his phone and looks sleepy but pleased.

"Classes are cancelled," he says. "All day."

"Wonderful," Charles says, and closes his eyes again. No reason to get up for his 10:30, then.

"A whole day off," Erik says. "And I don't even have to work."

"Lovely," Charles says, eyes still closed.

"You know how we should use this time?" Erik asks.

"Sleeping?" Charles suggests. He shivers and opens his eyes again when Erik shifts and the blankets shift with him, once again sucking in the frigid air of the bedroom.

"No," Erik says slowly, as if Charles is exceedingly stupid. Before Charles can tell him sleeping is the correct answer and remind him that they didn't get in until nearly two and then they spent another hour making out before they actually, properly settled in to bed, Erik rolls over until he's on top of Charles, neatly pinning him to the extra long twin bed. The blankets are still gathered around them, the air warm and heavy from their bodies and breath.

This close, Erik looks _happy_ and it's sobering. Charles swallows, even as Erik makes his intentions clear and leans closer for a kiss.

Erik likes to pretend he's sloppy and lazy and careless. Not to fit in, Charles thinks, but because if he can convince himself he doesn't care, he might be able to convince himself he can't get hurt. Sometimes Charles wants to find whoever did this to Erik and yell at them, but most days he's content to slowly chisel away at Erik's defenses instead.

That's all to say, if Erik truly was sloppy and lazy and careless, it would be evident in the way he kissed. It's not. Erik's kissing is precise and fastidious and _scorching_. Erik kisses Charles like Charles is a problem that needs solving and the direct and obvious intent _does things_ to Charles. He makes a high, rough sound in the back of his throat as Erik pushes him down into the mattress and kisses him breathless, literally kisses him until Charles can't do more than pant short, shallow bursts of air that leave him lightheaded. 

Erik's lips are hot against his, hotter than anything else in their rapidly warming tangle of blankets, except maybe for the absent brush of Erik's cock on his thigh, but Charles is doing his best to put that out of his head--Erik doesn't want that, not yet. He's not ready for it, even if Charles is sure he must be as horny and miserable as Charles is himself. Instead, he focuses on Erik's mouth and the way it slides against his own, the way Erik bites at his lips and rubs his nose against the very faint stubble that's making itself known on Charles' face. He presses up against Erik and kisses him once and again and again, sliding his fingers into Erik's hair and pulling him down for each kiss, licking at Erik's lower lip until he opens his mouth and pants against Charles, melting into him as if he never wants them to part.

Charles closes his eyes again and lets Erik kiss him, lets him suck on his lower lip until it's slick and red and sensitive, lets Erik keep kissing him over and over until he loses track of time and place and imagines that this is their world--the warm, humid cocoon of blankets, the silence of an early morning snowfall, and Erik's mouth hot against his own.


	3. wearing each other's clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles is terrible at laundry. Also, only one of them is wearing the other's clothes. Sorry!

There's an almost comical silence in the long seconds that follow the sounds of breaking glass. Charles' jaw drops. Moira's eyes are wide. There's nothing to be done about the red wine slowly seeping into Charles' shirt and slacks.

"That was impressive," Moira finally notes. And if Charles had been watching this on YouTube, it certainly would have been--Charles losing his grip on the glass, fumbling for and catching it without spilling a drop, and then tripping over a discarded shoe, spilling the wine all over himself and smashing the glass on the ground. It was an astounding series of events. He only wishes it hadn't left him soaking in pinot noir.

"Oh god," he says faintly.

"Well, take it off," Moira says. "Um...milk, I think? Or warm salt water. Get your phone, google it."

"Oh god," Charles repeats.

"Seriously, Charles, you have a date in like, half an hour, right? Soak your clothes and jump in the shower already," Moira says. "Otherwise you'll smell like a vineyard."

"No," Charles says, staring down at himself. "I can't--I'm out of clothes! I have no clothes left!"

"What are you talking about?" Moira asks. "I've seen the piles of laundry you can accumulate. I know it all LOOKS the same, but you do have multiple--"

"No, no, no," Charles says, and panic is starting to set in because--half an hour. That's not enough time to buy a new outfit AND get to dinner, nor is it enough time to wash and dry an outfit AND get to dinner, if he could even get to the laundry room--he heard the washer going when they walked in. "I mean this is it! This is all I have-- _had_ \--clean!"

Moira actually smacks her forehead, which Charles thinks is a little much.

"Seriously?" she asks. " _Seriously_? Charles, you're not eighteen anymore!"

"Yes!" Charles snaps, "Which means I have even less time for things like doing laundry!"

"Then _send it out_ ," she says. "It's not like you can't afford it!"

"I am perfectly capable of doing it myself!" Charles says. "I don't want to be one of those, you know. Those sort of affluent people. Who can't do anything themselves."

"So instead you're going to be the type of rich person who smells like BO," Moira says. "Charles, _come on_!"

"Well, this isn't exactly the time to get into it!" Charles says. He glances at his watch. "I'm meeting Erik in town in twenty-five minutes and now I have nothing to wear! I timed out my laundry _exactly_ so I'd have enough to wear for this date before I ran out of clothes!"

Moira sighs and pushes past him. It takes Charles a moment to figure out where she's headed, and then he's racing after her, trying to stop her before--

He's not quick enough and she pulls open the door to his bedroom, revealing...well, every piece of clothing he owns on the floor.

" _Charles_."

"If I lived in a flat with in-unit laundry, I'd be able to get it done when it was convenient!" Charles insists. "It's not my fault that when I _do_ have time and energy, the machines are always in use!"

Moira picks across Charles' laundry-littered floor and starts pulling open the drawers of his dresser.

"There's nothing in there!" Charles tells her.

"There has to be something," she says. "Some sweater your grandmother gave you that you don't like, some t-shirt that's two sizes too small...."

"Nothing," Charles says. "I wore all those earlier this week. This was my last nice outfit and I was saving it for today. I can't--"

Moira holds up a button down shirt and a blazer.

"What about these?" she asks.

"Those are Erik's," Charles says. "He left them here a few weeks ago and--"

"Problem solved," Moira says. "Go take a shower, we'll soak your clothes and you can wear these."

"I can't wear Erik's clothes on a date with Erik!" Charles says. 

"Why not?" Moira asks. "He might think it's hot."

"You're insane!" Charles says.

Moira throws Erik's things at him and Charles only barely manages to catch them before they join his own clothes, strewn across the floor.

"Put them on," Moira says. "Would you rather wear Erik's clean clothes or an oxford caked in whatever this is?"

She grabs a shirt from the floor, one that's stained with coffee after an unfortunate incident in his favorite coffeeshop. He lowered himself to wearing it again under a cardigan on Monday. 

He's doomed.

"Fuck," he says. "Just...fuck!"

"Shower!" Moira says. "Go."

***

When Erik sees Charles outside the restaurant, the first look that crosses his face is the slightly goofy, overly fond smile that always flashes for just a moment before he shoves it behind his cool exterior. 

The second is amused incredulity. 

"Should I comment?" he asks.

"Oh, shut up," Charles says. His hair has dried terribly, Erik's clothes are far too big, and he looks harried and exhausted. He should have just cancelled and spent the evening at a laundromat. "It's a long story. Be glad I'm here and clothed at all."

"I'm glad you're here," Erik says, leaning over to kiss his check. "I'm rarely glad you're clothed."

"I'm going to kill Moira," Charles mutters to himself.

"I promise I feel very self-satisfied and proprietary," Erik says, but before Charles can perk up too much, he adds, "Not that it will keep me from making fun of you."

"You're an awful boyfriend," Charles says.

"I don't know," Erik says. "You might change your mind when I take you home to reclaim my clothes. I might even let you have the clothes of yours that have wormed their way into my dresser."

"Did I say awful?" Charles says. He loops his arm through Erik's and leads him towards the door.

"And I even have in-unit laundry," Erik says.

It's only been two months, but Charles might be in love. 

Or maybe that's relief, it's hard to tell.

"Tell me more," Charles says, as if he's not already calculating how best to bring four loads of laundry across Cambridge on the T.


	4. eating ice cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik is irritated that his daughter keeps running away. Charles informs him that the more commonly accepted definition of these escapades is “play date.” Also, they eat ice cream.

"My daughter has run away again," Erik says when he strides into the kitchen.

"Good afternoon, Erik," Charles says. He holds up an ice cream scooper. "Would you like chocolate, strawberry, or vanilla?"

"Did you hear me?" Erik says again, and Charles thinks he'd look fearsome if it wasn't for the ridiculous costume and helmet. "My daughter ran away again. Here, Pietro tells me."

"Yes, well," Charles says. "Most parents would call it more of a playdate, but we can go with running away if you'd like." 

Erik looks around the room, glaring at the pantry and the pots when it's clear there's no one else around at which to direct his ire. Charles smiles and scoops himself a bowl of strawberry ice cream.

"I don't like them coming here," Erik says, but Charles is pleased that his tone holds only the annoyance that means he's irate at being undermined, not the steel of their own issues that sometimes bleeds into Erik's interactions with his children.

"It's Jean's birthday," Charles says. "We're having an ice cream party and Wanda is Jean's very best friend, apparently. We couldn't very well leave her out."

Erik crosses his arms and grunts. Charles smiles and eats a spoon of ice cream, smirking around the spoon as Erik's attention flickers back to him. He sucks the last of the ice cream off the spoon for good measure before dropping it back into the bowl.

"Are you sure you won't have any ice cream while you wait?" Charles asks. 

"I'm not waiting," Erik says. "I'm taking Wanda and we're going home."

Charles puts another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. Erik glares at him outright.

"I simply can't allow that," he says once he's swallowed. "It would ruin Jean's party. You must stay until they're done."

Charles knows, by now, exactly how long Erik hesitates when he wants to see like he's considering a decision that he's actually already made. He can practically countdown to Erik's heavy sigh and the sound of a chair pulling out from the kitchen table. 

Erik sits across from him, still looking mutinous, but he says, "Vanilla, then."

Charles beams.

"You know," he says as he scoops, "you really won't be able to eat it properly in that helmet."

He smiles hopefully as he passes Erik a bowl. Erik takes the ice cream with one hand and removes his helmet with the other.

"Don't look so smug, Xavier," Erik says. "You haven't won anything."

"Eat your ice cream, Erik," Charles says.


	5. doing something together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> modern, powered au: Erik and Charles do the crossword together, but not on purpose.

Charles makes a quiet, almost disguised, sound of protest.

Almost.

"You promised you'd stop," Erik says without looking up, though his pen hovers over the "E" in "sneak" and he doesn't finish filling in the word.

"I didn't say anything," Charles insists. "Go on. Make your own mistakes."

Erik sighs and drops the pen, perhaps a bit dramatically.

"'Mistakes,'" he repeats. " _Charles_."

"Your decision, then," Charles says, rustling his newspaper. Erik wants to rip it away from him and smack him with it repeatedly.

"You can't say 'mistake' and then take it back!" Erik insists. "The crossword is mine. You don't yell answers, you don't help me cheat, and you don't get to tell me what I'm doing wrong until I've done the whole thing. Those are the rules."

"I can't help it!" Charles says. "You're so _loud_ and so _wrong_!"

"I'm not wrong!" Erik says. "'Double-crosser!'" He smacks the newspaper down in front of Charles. "Five letters that starts with 'sn.' It's sneak! It's obviously sneak!"

"It's not sneak," Charles says. 

He's silent after that, though, because Charles is an infuriating bastard who lives to drive Erik out of his mind.

"Well?" Erik asks after an endless minute of silence as Charles sips his tea.

"You said you didn't want my help," Charles says, lifting his chin churlishly.

"Just tell me the fucking answer," Erik says.

Charles sighs.

"It's _snake_ ," he says. "You're thinking 'link' for 'join together,' but it's obviously 'fuse' because fourteen across is 'sanfu.' That puts an 'e' in the corner there and makes the obvious answer _snake_!"

Charles is trying to sit calmly, but he's a little wild around the eyes. Erik restrains himself from crumpling up the crossword and throwing it at Charles' head.

"Fine," he says. He slaps his palm down on the table and yanks the puzzle back towards himself, cursing his need to seem smart enough to do the damn thing in pen and writing over his incorrect answer.

Any day now he's going to carry out his threat to switch to sudoku.


	6. doing something ridiculous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> modern, non-powered AU: Charles’ relationship with Gabrielle has gone stale. It has nothing to do with the boy he met at last week’s party, but the timing is superb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: There's no actual infidelity, but one of the characters is at the end of a relationship and thinking about hooking up with someone new. No actual cheating takes place. And it's Charles and a girlfriend, not Charles and Erik.

"I don't believe in a higher power," Charles says. He's lying on his back on Moira's bed, staring up as her ceiling fan slowly revolves above them. he can hear her clacking away at the keys on her laptop, but she's nothing more than a blurry movement in the corner of his eye.

"I know," she says without pause.

"But I feel like there must be some sort of...." He trails off and takes the unlit cigarette from behind his ear and rolls it between his fingers. "I feel like there comes a point where there are one too many strikes against a person. Where fate is telling you that you've made the wrong choice. And you have to decide if you want to listen."

"Or," Moira says, "over time, as you learn more things about someone, you begin to realize you're less compatible than you thought."

Charles flaps a hand dismissively in her direction. 

"At first it's, 'well, you're into the sort of music that bores me to tears, but that's okay,'" he continues, "and then, you know, you go to a comedy show and they laugh at all the bits that don't impress you and you laugh at all the bits that don't impress them and all these little things pile up and all of that excitement you felt at the start just evolves into ennui. They become an obligation."

"I think," Moira says, still typing, "that this is a conversation you should be having with Gabrielle." She stops then and swivels in her chair. Charles turns his head to look at her. "I think that this is about that guy from the other night."

"Erik," Charles says. "His name is Erik. And no, it's not. I mean. Maybe it is, a little." He presses the end of the cigarette to his lips, but doesn't put it in his mouth and doesn't light it. He just taps it thoughtfully. "I've never met anyone like him before. I've never felt anything like that before."

"I'm pretty sure you've wanted to fuck plenty of people," Moira says.

"It's not that, though," Charles insists. "I've never--spent six hours just _talking_ to someone and wished for six more immediately. I don't even know if I want to fuck him." That last part is a lie, but Moira doesn't need to know that. "I just want to...be around him. And the idea of spending twenty minutes with him in a coffee shop between classes is, right now, more appealing than going out to dinner with Gabrielle."

He feels badly about that. He wanted the thing with Gabrielle to work out, he really did. They're in similar fields and she's smart and pretty and they have interests in common. She should be perfect. But the sex started out adequate and has gone downhill from there and once they'd started dating for real, moved past flirty messages on the white board in their shared lab space and drunken lewd texts, Charles' interest began to wane. He still enjoyed their lab time and their discussions, but the rest? The dates and the nights out and even the nights in? All of that was stale.

He likes Gabrielle, but the mild attraction he felt when they first met is nothing compared to the wave of whatever it was that washed over him when he began to speak to Erik at last week's party.

"Love at first sight," Moira says.

"Or...something," Charles says. "I don't know that it's love. I don't know what it is."

He sticks the cigarette in his mouth fully and stares up at the fan again. 

"If you're going to smoke that, you have to go outside," Moira says. "No smoking in my apartment."

"I know, I know," Charles says. He pushes himself up and grabs his coat. "I'll be right back. I just need to clear my head."

"Take my keys," Moira says. "I'm not going downstairs to let you back in."

"Thanks," Charles says, and takes her keys off the dresser, slipping from the bedroom and then through the living room and downstairs to the street. It's cold on the sidewalk, colder than it was when Charles walked to Moira's apartment from the T. He hates the unpredictability of New England weather, and shivers as he fumbles for a lighter. He doesn't smoke frequently, just when he's been drinking or when he's particularly stressed. Unfortunately, that means that when he smokes on a whim, he's frequently unprepared. He pats down his pockets for a third time and sighs around the cigarette still hanging from between his lips. He straightens up and turns to run back upstairs for a book of matches when a hand on his shoulder stops him. He turns and his lips curl into a smile when he sees Erik standing before him, holding a lighter.

"Need a light?" Erik asks, and flicks the lighter on, cupping one hand close to Charles' mouth to keep it from blowing out. 

"Thanks," Charles says. He grins and pulls it out of his mouth, resting it between two fingers. "It's funny. I was just thinking about you."

"I had a feeling," Erik says. "I've been thinking about you too." He takes the cigarette from Charles and takes a drag. Something in Charles thrills at the presumption. "Listen--I've got a class in an hour, but do you want to get a cup of coffee?"

This is ridiculous. This is utterly ridiculous. 

Charles grins.

"I'm in the process of breaking up with someone," he warns.

"I asked you to come get a cup of coffee with me, not to fuck me," Erik says. Charles reclaims his cigarette.

"I'm just saying," Charles says. He has to tilt his head back to look up at Erik, standing as close as they are. He inhales deeply and then breathes the smoke out at Erik.

"And I'm just saying," Erik says, "I can wait a week. Maybe even two. But probably not three."

"Good to know," Charles says. When Erik takes the cigarette again, Charles lets him keep it and lets him rest a hand at the small of Charles' back and propel him down the street towards the nearest coffee shop.


	7. in battle, side-by-side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Magnus builds and then destroys a life without reliance on the gods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY HI. So. This is not XMFC. It's not even old retired dudes. It's not even 616. This is Xavier and Magnus from _X-Treme X-Men_ issues 2-3 on the bronze-age-greek-god-steampunk world that our merry band of multiverse hopping mutants land on for their first proper mission arc. For those not reading X-Treme X-Men (aka like, everyone because it was cancelled due to low sales figures), the titular X-Men are a team led by Alison Blaire (aka Dazzler) from 616 and the severed head of Charles Xavier in a jar, joined by Former Governor General Howlett (aka an alternate Wolverine) and Kurt Waggoner, aged fourteen (aka an alternate Nightcrawler). They're tasked with finding and killing ten evil alternaworld Xaviers, lest the multiverse unravel. 
> 
> Some relevant bits of this particular arc are [here](http://25.media.tumblr.com/915b0d0bfde7f95406e3cb9096d113b8/tumblr_mi7qlj6xIE1qewp2zo1_1280.png), [here](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/pocky_slash/433281/300064/300064_original.png), [here](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/pocky_slash/433281/300468/300468_original.png), [here](http://24.media.tumblr.com/acbb7519b0dd16fe0975ddbe65942c78/tumblr_mhxbkyo6GG1qewp2zo1_1280.png), and [here](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/pocky_slash/433281/300586/300586_original.png).  
> But! I feel like it's probably pretty readable on its own as a bronze-age-greek-god-steampunk AU? :D? :D? :D?
> 
> Anyway, I'm just generally pleased to have written it! If you do read it, I hope you enjoy!

It's Xavier who finds him, caked in dust and tears, when he finally wanders from the wreckage.

"Magnus?" he calls. "Magnus!"

And Magnus can only collapse against his old friend and weep. His parents. His sister. They're all gone. His entire family snuffed out before his eyes, murdered by the gods they were trying to appease, the gods they had worshipped their whole lives.

Xavier had been saying for years that reliance on the gods made them weak, that the gods couldn't be counted on, shouldn't be counted on. It was dangerous, he said. Many shunned Xavier for his blasphemies, but the gods had always been open to discovery and independence. They saw no need to punish non-believers, and so Magnus stayed close. 

"The boy needs a friend," his mother had said, wary as she was of his heresy. Magnus had been happy to provide that friendship. Xavier was brilliant and charming and he has been right all this time. Magnus feels a fool for doubting him, but that foolishness is dwarfed by a sadness so deep he can hardly bear to stand.

"It's okay," Xavier says, embracing him tightly. "You survived, Magnus. You survived, and that's what matters. You can help us take back what's ours."

It's startling, how quickly his sadness morphs into this all-consuming need for vengeance.

"Tell me what I have to do," Magnus says.

Xavier smiles at him and takes his hand.

***

They work together to build their new world, preaching their own brand of fealty, one rooted in science and reason. Xavier teaches them that their gifts are not from the gods, but rather twists in their biology, variations as simple as those that dictate the different colors of their eyes, if rarer. He uses his own biological twist to shield their new city, their utopia, from the wrath of the gods and he teaches all of them, stands in the public forum and speaks about engines and electrics and all the brilliant ideas he's fostering in the scientists, so long as they can stave off the deities. People gather and listen, smiling, sometimes for the first time in ages. They linger afterwards and ask questions, and then scatter back to their lives and their jobs. 

It's a more efficient place, now that they don't rely on the gods for everything. While their little settlement might not be thriving, there's a certain pride that comes from knowing that this is their own doing. They've carved this life themselves, without help from the gods. They've harnessed the powers of science under Xavier's tutelage and soon they may even surpass the life they led before the gods turned on them.

It's a triumph, and Magnus embraces the self-sufficiency he never knew he craved.

"You're changing the world," he tells Xavier.

"Not just me," Xavier says, and touches Magnus' wrist, just fleetingly and sweetly enough that Magnus' heart sings.

***

In public, Xavier lectures. In private, they train. Magnus' gift had been used for the family business, previously. His family has known this gift generations back. The strength of his control was seen as a blessing from the gods. The gift hadn't been so strong in years, and Magnus was apprenticing with his father almost before he could read, twisting metal into statues and wheels and plows effortlessly. 

He makes weapons, now--armor and canons and the intricate metal parts for the things that Xavier and Richards and Stark design. He molds tiny trigger mechanisms and bends huge sheaths of metal to his will.

"You're more than even this," Xavier murmurs as he sweats in the heat of his workshop, their shirts shed in deference to the fire roaring behind them. "You can be a weapon yourself. You can use your mutation to defend yourself as easily as you use it in the workshop."

Xavier never calls them "gifts." He says that name implies benevolent bestowal from the higher powers that have turned on them. Mutation, he says, is the scientific term for the change in their biology, the one that allows Magnus to manipulate metals and allows Xavier to speak right into Magnus' mind, warm and intimate as he helps Magnus unlock his true power.

Magnus has never used his gift to destroy, only to create.

"You've been missing half your potential, my dear friend," Xavier tells him. He smiles, then. A benevolent bestowal. A true gift.

***

He's glad for Xavier's training once they start going on raids.

"We have technology the gods aren't expecting," Xavier assures him as they plan out the first. "There are so many innocent people out there being tortured by the deities. Murdered as your family was. They deserve a chance at the freedom we have within the city."

Freedom is relative, of course. There are restrictions in the city. Their resources are limited. There's a certain hierarchy of priorities when it comes to scientific inquiry and the best use of time, but they're small prices to pay for the safety afforded by Xavier's mental shields. It's a small price to pay to ensure that no other child should be orphaned.

They go out together at night, landing their craft in the village square. The mortals wander out in awe and Xavier stands atop it and speaks to them. 

"You don't have to live like this, under the oppressive rule of gods who demand worship in exchange for persecution! You don't have to allow yourselves to be degraded by your mortality! Come with us--allow us to open your minds to the possibility that we, too, can be as powerful as the gods!"

Magnus' blood roars through his veins at the speech. The crowd looks wary, but there are those that join them, even as the God of Thunder appears after a jagged crack of lightning illuminates the sky. 

There's screaming and rumbling, general chaos as the god gives chase. The craft has weapons built in, but it is their gifts--mutation--that brings the god down. Xavier strikes, causing the god to fall to his knees in pain, his head between his hands. Magnus strikes while he's distracted, wraps him in great sheets of metal and tosses him away, giving them just enough time to escape to the safety of Xavier's mental bubble.

The refugees are frightened and injured, tended to by McCoy and Banner. Stark and Richards examine the airship for damage. Xavier is grinning madly, with an unholy exuberance that sets Magnus alight.

"We did it," he says, clutching at Magnus' elbows. "We took on the gods, Magnus. You did. You took down a god yourself, with your powers. How does it feel? Does it feel good? Is it still there under your skin, that _power_ , that--"

Magnus slams him against the side of the nearest building, out of the light of the bonfire, away from the bustle of the camp. He ruts mindlessly against Xavier, hot all over with the power, with the intensity, with the fire that sings in his blood whenever Xavier is near. 

He marks Xavier with his teeth and nails, claws at the buttons of his waistcoat, tries to hold him still despite his power, his presence, and finally gives in to Xavier's hand unclasping his trousers and sliding inside. Magnus sobs his climax into Xavier's neck, grateful that Xavier has shown him this life beyond the gods, has given him something new and infinitely more precious to worship.

***

They go out side by side after that. They save lives and lose lives and battle the gods side-by-side. Xavier's ability informs them when there's to be trouble, and they go out, sometimes alone, sometimes with others, but always together. There are days they return dirty and bloody, days they dress each other's wounds in the cavernous rooms attached to the laboratories, the rooms that Xavier now occupies. There are days they return triumphant with a dozen mortals in tow, all unharmed and grateful, and Magnus and Xavier ride out the high on the settee in Xavier's office, tracing old scars greedily and laughing through the excess of adrenaline. 

Xavier seems content--happy, even. Thousands of mortals are still being murdered every day, but their little city is thriving and it's due to Xavier's leadership. He has people to direct, ideas to spread amongst their people, and Magnus warming his bed at night. He can understand Xavier trying to make the most out of it, enjoy life while he can. It's not the simple life Magnus led with his parents and sister all those years ago, but it's good in its own way. He misses them every day and yearns, every day, to avenge their deaths, but even with that burden it's easy to see that this is a better life. A freer life.

He trusts Xavier. He trusts Xavier with everything the way he used to trust the gods. There aren't many people he would give that much power to, but Xavier who is humble and wise, deserves it. Xavier doesn't abuse the power, not the way the gods did.

***

Magnus goes to Xavier the night after the visitors from another realm tumble into their world. He's concerned--he's seen Xavier collapse under the strain of his mutation before, comforted him through the headaches and the vomiting, but what happened in the amplification room was different. The blood startled him. The vehemence that they find these other telepaths and...and kill them.

It's always been the gods. They've never gone after mortals before.

"Xavier?" Magnus asks. He's away from the groups of citizens down on the streets, off on his office balcony on his own. 

"Magnus," Xavier says. "You seem concerned. You've nothing to worry about, I'm fine."

"I worry," Magnus says. "This plan--these people aren't prepared for war. And to attack the telepaths--couldn't they help us? Couldn't they be turned against the gods?"

Xavier shakes his head so hard and so sharply that Magnus steps back.

"No," he says. "No. They want to kill me, Magnus. They've aligned themselves with the gods. They've made their choice!" He turns and stares at Magnus. His eyes are piercing. "Do you want to see me tortured, Magnus? After years of staying by my side, after years of helping me realize the true destiny of this world, do you want to see me bleed slowly out of every orifice while I'm torn apart mentally and screaming in pain?"

Magnus shudders at the very thought. His hand darts out to catch Xavier's and squeeze it tightly.

"I would never," Magnus says. 

"Those telepaths will ruin everything I've worked for, everything you've built with me," Xavier says, clutching Magnus' hand in his own. "They must be stopped."

Magnus nods and projects his faith and his loyalty. They've come this far together. After the millions of their people murdered, Magnus isn't going to question Xavier now.

"We march at dawn," Magnus says. "We're take out the telepaths, and maybe a few gods while we're at it."

Xavier kisses him with a ferocity that Magnus isn't expecting, but he doesn't let himself flinch. He kisses back, does what he can to calm Xavier's nerves. They'll need to focus tomorrow, and it will be best to go into this with no regrets and no secrets.

***

Magus' focus is on protecting their people, incapacitating the gods, and finding the telepaths. He trusts Xavier to take care of himself, he learned that long ago, Xavier links to him, gives Magnus an awareness of his position, of what he's doing. Magnus knows exactly where his Xavier is when the other Xavier makes his revelation.

"Xavier's been mind-controlling the gods!"

It's like the air around him disappears into a vacuum, like he's walking through honey. It absolutely can't be true. It's an illusion, a lie from the other telepath, the other Xavier, it has to be--

But there's fear across the telepathic battle link, there's anger and frustration and a stab of something that tastes like truth.

And then Xavier says it.

"Dammit!" Xavier says. "Come, Goddess! Serve me one last time!"

The world is crumbling down around Magnus. He's back in the temple the day he lost his parents and Ruth, struck by the same hopelessness. He put his faith in the gods and they betrayed him. He turned that faith to Xavier and now it's happening all over again.

It can't be true.

_It is, Magnus_.

It's the other Xavier, the floating head. The voice is the same, but the tone and the feeling, the warmth is missing. The familiarity.

_He's pulled their strings all this time. He killed millions. Your family. He's been using you. You can't protect him, not any longer. You must let him pay._

He sees the devastation of his world dancing across his vision, the deaths on his conscious, the times that Magnus himself has been injured and bleeding.

Xavier could have stopped it all. Did he care? About Magnus, about any of it--

There's a sharp pain in his head, a cry of outrage as the other Xavier is ripped from his mind, as his Xavier eyes the others, eyes the Queen, and the little blue boy--

Miss Blaire throws a bolt of energy and Magnus can't stop his first instinct to run to Xavier, still. It's ingrained. He wonders if Xavier planted those feelings, too, or if they were real. Could they ever have been real, built as they were on lies?

Xavier was the cause of all the devastation. Xavier has ruined everything Magnus held dear, from the death of his parents to the mockery of a life he's built in the aftermath. Xavier has betrayed everything good in their world, has committed atrocities that Magnus' mind can't begin to process.

He must be stopped. Miss Blaire won't do it, but he must be stopped and Magnus' heart is breaking, his world is dying, but it must in order to be reborn.

He has tears in his eyes, but his grip is as sure as he wishes his heart could be.


	8. cooking/baking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The typical post-beach mutant school AU “we’re all a big gross family” crap that you’d expect from me. There are baby mutants and breakfast food and kisses. The incredibly obvious glance into my id that the whole internet is familiar with at this point.

It's early. The sun's not even peeking over the horizon and the sky is still the purple fading into lavender that signals the dawn. Despite the hour, the bed is cold when Charles rolls into the spot that Erik normally occupies. It's not odd for Erik to wake before him, but it's early even for Erik's daily run, and when Charles reaches out, he's not out on the grounds, but in the kitchen.

He's also not alone.

Charles dons his robe and slippers. It's well before the time he usually rises, but whatever's going on in the kitchen seems more appealing than sleep, oddly enough.

"Careful, now," Erik is saying. "Make sure you don't spill."

Ororo is sitting on the counter, pouring a measuring cup full of milk into a large bowl. Erik stands next to her, a careful hand on her back. Behind him, a whisk twirls back and forth through a metal bowl. Scott and Jean are at the table, where Scott is hard at work greasing muffin tins for Jean to fill with batter. 

It's not so odd for Ororo to be up this early, but he's surprised to see Jean and Scott. Still, they're all working silently and happily together, and Charles isn't about to protest a freshly made breakfast. He joins Erik and Ororo at the counter, smiling.

"Good morning," he says. "This looks promising." Erik turns his head enough for a kiss, warm and familiar, even as Ororo giggles and squeals, "Ew, kissing!"

"Oh no," Charles says, "not _kissing_!" He leans over and kisses her cheek as well. She wrinkles her nose at him, grinning, and he wrinkles his right back.

"We're making muffins!" Jean tells him. "Erik told us how to do it, but we made them ourselves, me and Scott."

"That's wonderful," Charles says. To Erik and Ororo, he adds, "And what are you two making?"

"Eggs?" Ororo says, looking up at Erik.

"Quiche," Erik corrects her. "Angel made some extra pie crusts last night and said I could have them for quiche. One spinach and cheese and one bacon and cheese."

"And your army of kitchen recruits?" Charles asks, smoothing back Ororo's hair as she stirs an egg and milk mixture with a whisk.

"Ororo was already up when I woke," Erik says. "When Jean and Scott joined us, I thought it best to put them to work."

"I think they have laws against that, now," Charles remarks, watching with never-ceasing wonder as Jean, finished filling the tins, carefully lifts them telekinetically and floats them towards the oven. The fluidity with which the oven door opens leads Charles to believe that part is Erik's doing, but the tins slip inside without incident and Jean smiles radiantly.

"I did it!" she says. 

"That was _brilliant_ ," Charles tells her. "Well done, Jean! Very good!"

"You're getting better," Erik remarks without inflection, but Jean understands the weight behind the rare compliment and her smile brightens further. "Now, if the two of you would place the fillings in the pie crusts, Ororo and I will finish with the eggs." He turns to Charles and says, "You can make coffee." 

He touches Charles' wrist, fleeting and warm and chased by an absent projection of Erik's current feelings--tired, hungry, content, loved. It's enough to give Charles pause. He stops walking and turns back to Erik, who is peering into Ororo's bowl and taking the whisk from her to mix it himself.

Erik is happy. He's content and loved and not on the precipice of leaving, not warily considering his options or waiting for the next catastrophe. He's exhausted debating politics until midnight, sore from the sex that followed, cautious of Ororo's balance on the counter, proud of Jean's display of power, worried that Scott will never see himself as more than destruction, and unquestionably sure that this is where he belongs. Not just in this moment, but for as long as he can manage. It's not even a full conscious thought, just a bone-deep awareness that blankets his mind. Charles hasn't even truly noticed it before now.

Charles is still leery of embarrassing himself in front of the others, but Jean doesn't mind, Scott's discomfort is the minor embarrassment of watching something not meant for him, and for all her giggling, Ororo doesn't even know it's something to be ashamed of, so Charles turns on his heel and takes the whisk from Erik's hand, kissing him again and then once more.

Erik's hand settles at his waist when he pulls back. He's smiling, confused, affectionately exasperated.

"Yes?" he asks mildly.

"Nothing," Charles says. "I'm just happy you're here."

"I am too," Erik says. He pushes Charles gently backwards. "Go make coffee."

Charles steps out of Erik's grip as Scott complains that there's too much kissing and Jean concentrates on spreading the grated cheese evenly over the bacon in her pie crust. 

Charles was right; going to the kitchen was an infinitely better choice than going back to sleep.


	9. getting married

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik's known this was coming for a long time. He's scared, but that doesn't mean he's not looking forward to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another cheat for a couple reasons. One, this was mostly already written in emails to **pearl_o** , I just cleaned it up a bit. Two, it's not actually a wedding, it's a proposal, which is SORT of like getting married. It's part of the cop AU I will probably never finish, where Erik is a cop and Moira is his partner and they're head of the Mutant Crimes division and Charles is a professor and one of the leading experts on the x-gene and also Erik's boyfriend.
> 
> Also, in general, I feel like there need to be more stories where Charles does the proposing. JUST PUTTING THAT OUT THERE, INTERNET. IF YOU WANT TO WRITE ME A MILLION STORIES WHERE CHARLES PROPOSES, THAT'S YOUR PREROGATIVE.

When Erik steps out of the taxi, he _knows_. It's not that the restaurant has any special meaning for them--he and Charles have had most of their important conversations in hospital rooms and the attic office of the Xavier house. It's a nicer place than they usually bother with, though, and something about the mental tendril that Charles sends out in greeting has just a touch of nervousness.

He bites his lip. He's not sure if it's to keep from smiling or frowning.

Erik gives the maitre'd Charles' name and follows him to a cozy table in the back of the restaurant. Charles is already there and already one drink into the evening. He's tapping his fingers restlessly on the table top, but he smiles when he sees Erik, only a little wild around the edges.

"Hello," he says, almost shy in his delight.

"Hi," Erik says. If he was unsure of Charles' intentions when he arrived, there's no mistaking them now. There's a ring in Charles' pants pocket. 

Erik kisses Charles in greeting, strokes his hair back behind his ear, and tries to calm himself enough to sit through dinner without worrying about what Charles may or may not be asking him at the end of it.

Erik's spent a lot of time thinking about marriage. He never used to, but Charles changed many things. He never thought he could love someone enough to stand the thought of spending forever with them--and it would be "forever." Erik doesn't make vows lightly. If he were to get married, it wouldn't be on a whim. It would be serious.

He's serious about Charles.

In the aftermath of the accident, it was Raven who first suggested that Erik move in with Charles. Erik thought the idea was ludicrous. They'd been on one date. Yes, he felt something for Charles, he suspected he was rapidly falling in love with Charles, even, but the idea of moving in with someone so quickly was absurd. In reality, they barely knew each other, even if it felt like they'd been lifelong friends already. But, as she pointed out, he was already coming by every night to make dinner and to check in. He was spending the night more often than not, even if he was just crashing on the couch and not actually in bed with Charles, who was running hot and cold in the face of his paralysis. 

He kept his apartment for two months, even as a layer of dust began to gather on his furniture and books. He kept his apartment even as Charles came to accept his presence, to ask every evening, with a kind of hidden, desperate hope, if Erik was planning on staying the night. He gave up the ghost after two months, however--there was no need to keep paying rent on a place he only visited to pick up clean clothes. 

He couldn't imagine living without Charles. He _can't_ imagine living without Charles. He's become used to the good morning kiss, to coming downstairs to find his lunch already packed and coffee already brewing. He can't fathom coming home to anyone else--or worse--coming home to an empty house, quiet and cold and silent. He likes having Charles in his personal space and in his mental space. He likes that Charles puts his nose in all of Erik's business unashamedly, not bothering to apologize for skimming his mind to glean the salient details. He doesn't just like those things--he loves them. They annoy the shit out of him and drive him insane, but without them his life would be dull and hollow. He'd miss the way his chest aches at the sight of Charles, who's beautiful and absurd and too smart to be real.

He's spent a lot of time thinking about marriage, since meeting Charles. He's nervous and afraid, but that doesn't mean he's not anxiously awaiting the question.

Dinner is lovely, though more for the conversation and companionship than the food, which Erik barely tastes thanks to a combination of his nerves and the way Charles is beaming at him. They steal bits of each other's dinner and their fingers tangle easily over the tabletop. Everything is easy, really--Erik's smile, his affection, the conversation. He won't go so far as to say that everything in his life with Charles is easy--Charles is stubborn and rich and smart and pompous and has all of the flaws that come along with those things. But _Erik_ is somehow easier. Being himself is easier. Existing is easier.

"I love you," Erik tells him after the waiter places their coffee in front of them. "I worry, sometimes, that I don't tell you that often enough."

"The words don't matter," Charles says, then adds, "I mean, they do, of course. And I appreciate what it takes for you to say them. But I can feel it in your head all the time. I know it's there."

Charles turns his hand where Erik is holding it, stroking the back of it with his thumb. He curls their fingers together and looks at Erik as serious as he ever has, as nervous as he ever has. Erik swallows the lump in his throat. This is it.

"Erik," Charles says, "I know we're joked and we've talked around it and I know we should have an actual conversation--and we will, I swear--but long conversation is not really conducive to a surprise and I want you to have that." He bites his lip and squeezes Erik's hand. "I want you to have everything that makes you happy. I want you to be happy. I want to make you happy, more than I've ever wanted anything." He fumbles in his pocket with his free hand. It's shaking. Both his hands are shaking, and Erik squeezes as tightly as he can manage, his gaze unwavering, as Charles places a small black box on the table. Erik can feel the ring inside of it and he knows he should wait, he knows that Charles hasn't actually asked him anything yet, that he should have more patience, have better control of his nerves, but he spends all day with nerves of steel and the point of being with Charles is that he doesn't have to be that way.

"Yes," he says. "Yes. Charles--of course I'll marry you."

Charles looks dumbfounded and then so delighted that Erik thinks the smile might actually split his face in two.

"Really?" Charles asks.

"Of course, you idiot," Erik says. "Of course I will."

For a moment, Charles doesn't seem to know what to do with himself. Erik makes a note to think back on this moment and enjoy it in the future. For the time being, he's too shocked himself. Charles pulls himself together and reaches across the table, taking Erik's face in between his hands and tipping him forward, pressing their lips together. 

Erik tries to remember that they're in public, that they're in public in a city in which Erik is a figure of minor authority. It's hard, though, with Charles' thoughts wrapping so tightly around him, Charles' mouth beneath his own, and all this _joy_. Erik's life had been far from joyful before he met Charles; now he feels it almost every day. Tenfold in this moment, maybe even more.

"We should go home," Charles says, panting, when they pull apart. He's grinning. His eyes are beautiful. "We should celebrate this properly." 

"I agree," Erik murmurs. "Although, I think you're forgetting something." He holds up his left hand and wiggles his fingers. It takes Charles a moment to catch on, and once he does, he fumbles to open the box and remove the ring. Erik could do it with a wave of his hand, but he's a traditionalist at heart and if Charles is going to ask, Charles can damn well put the thing on himself.

"It's not--I spent a lot of time agonizing if you must know," Charles says. "I can't tell you how hard it is to pick out an engagement band for someone with such a control over metal. If you don't like it or you want to alter it or change it or--"

"It's from you," Erik assures him as Charles slides the plain band into place. "It's perfect."

Erik looks at the ring, at the shape of it on his hand, and then feels it out. It's pure--it sings to him high and clear it takes but a moment for him to memorize every inch of it. He reaches out to run his knuckles over the edge of Charles' jaw, both skin on skin and skin on Erik's ring. It's a moment he'd like to remember--this snapshot right now, the look on Charles' face, and this feeling blazing through him that this is right, this is the right decision, there's nowhere else he'd rather be for today and tomorrow and all of the days and weeks and months and years to come.


	10. arguing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern, non-powered AU: Charles and Erik talk and smoke and make out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About a week and a half after [chapter 6, "doing something ridiculous."](http://archiveofourown.org/works/677419/chapters/1274448) I imagine they're in grad school here and Charles is a year or two younger than Moira and Erik. Thanks to **pearlo** for this one ♥

"Look," Charles says, "all of that is absurd. It's absurd. You must realize it's absurd."

Erik doesn't say anything. He doesn't protest or agree or react in anyway except to steal Charles' joint and inhale deeply. Charles peers up at him through narrowed eyes. Erik is sitting cross-legged, his back against the bed. He's not wearing shoes or socks, even though the bedroom is freezing, if markedly quieter than the rest of the house.

"You're the only person I've ever met who likes to argue when they get stoned," Erik says when he passes the joint back. He exhales through his nose and leans back so his head is resting against the mattress.

"I always like to argue," Charles replies, blinking. Charles, by contrast, is lying on his stomach. His weight rests on his elbows. The position does strange things to the light creeping in through the blinds and the color of Erik's hair. The light from outside is the only light in the room, presently, aside from the cherry of the joint. Charles takes another hit and lets it out slowly. "Unfortunately, mostly people I try to argue with are quite dim and get discouraged easily, so it doesn't happen as much as I'd like."

"I'll bet," Erik murmurs. He shifts around and pulls his legs up and against his chest until he can lead forward on his knees. Charles can't look away from his feet. He doesn't know why. They're nice feet, yes, but not particularly interesting except for the fact that they're on display. It's a casual sort of intimacy, something not expected and filled with a meaning that Charles is still trying to suss out. 

Erik takes the joint back, but doesn't take a hit. He says, "You're a pain in the ass to argue with. You think you're always right."

"I am always right," Charles says, which is a lie that even he is self-aware enough to recognize. It sounds like the sort of thing to say in this situation. It has the right patter. Charles isn't obsessed with appearances in the way that his mother is, but it doesn't mean he doesn't have his own eccentricities. He likes to be the one directing the story, the protagonist in his own life, as it were. He doesn't think that's necessarily a bad thing--everyone should be the main character in their autobiography, shouldn't they?

Raven calls him a control freak.

"No, you're always sure, which isn't the same as always being right," Erik says. He leans forward and looks down at Charles, almost pensive. "You broke up with your girlfriend a week ago. Are we going to go beyond this? We don't have to."

Erik wants to. Even in the dim light of the room, Charles can see it in his eyes. He can see it, too, in every movement he's made since the night Charles met him. The touches. The looks. Erik made it clear he likes Charles and Charles made it clear he likes Erik and then they let it simmer while Charles took care of his business, but they really should get on with it. The wanting is nice--hot and sharp, a welcome distraction from his work, an exquisite feelings between his ribs, a frenetic energy behind everything he's done since the moment he and Erik first spoke.

The rest of it will be even better, Charles imagines. The rest of his relationship with Erik is already better than any other he's ever had.

"I think we do," Charles says. "I think if we didn't, if we tried not to, it might drive us mad."

"Leave us giving in and ripping each other's clothes off in the middle of the library?" Erik asks.

"Or make us mortal enemies, dedicated to spending the rest of our lives foiling one another, addicted to the passion of that hatred because it's the closest we can get to the passion of what we really want," Charles says, raising one eyebrow. Erik laughs and unfolds himself, shifting back into his previous crosslegged position and leaning even further forward.

"Do you think all of fiction's greatest rivalries could be solved with fucking?" he asks.

"Not all," Charles says. "There's hatred and then there's the sort of proprietary hatred that's really just repression. Lex Luthor and Superman, Rick and Renault in _Casablanca_ , the Doctor and the Master...."

"I'd hate for us to end up like that," Erik says. "Although, Louis and Rick did begin a beautiful friendship at the end of Casablanca, purportedly."

"They did," Charles agrees. He's lost track of the joint, but has to trust that Erik isn't going to burn down their host's bedroom with it. He's too busy looking at Erik to make sure the furniture isn't on fire.

"Do you want a beautiful friendship, Charles?" 

Charles does want a beautiful friendship. A beautiful friendship, as Charles has expounded to Moira multiple times, is the cornerstone of the type of relationship Charles wants to grow old in. He wants to love whomever he marries, but mostly he wants to like them. He wants to enjoy spending time with them. He wants to laugh and tease and debate and have fun.

Yes, Charles wants a beautiful friendship. But that's not his line.

"I want you to kiss me," is what he says, is the _right_ thing to say, because Erik shifts again, rolls to his knees while Charles rolls to his back and then Erik is straddling him, kneeling over him, leaning down while Charles pushes himself up for their long awaited first kiss.

The angle is strange--Charles is propped up on one elbow and Erik is nearly doubled over. One of his hands is spread between Charles' shoulder blades, holding him up. The other hand is curled around Charles' jaw as their mouths move together. It's odd for a first kiss--Charles is more confident than he usually is when he kisses someone for the first time and Erik is intent and focused and clearly knows what he wants. It would feel more like the sort of kiss that's long practiced and familiar if it wasn't for the way that Charles' nerve endings are alight. 

Erik's mouth is warm and he tastes like stale beer and pot smoke. There's something sweet there, too, as Charles sucks on his lower lip, something else that he can't pin down. When he pulls away, dizzy and giddy and grinning, he still hasn't figured it out. That's okay, though. He has a feeling he'll have plenty of time to explore further.


	11. doing something sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern, college AU (*the* college au, if you've been following my LJ): When Charles disappears in the middle of a party, Erik can’t help but want to offer comfort, even though Charles is definitely not his boyfriend. Totally. Not at all. And Erik likes it that way.

Erik notices Charles' disappearance almost the moment it happens. There's a part of him that tracks Charles all the time, now. He's not even aware of it, most days--it's an unconscious habit he's picked up sometime between that first drunken encounter and now. He tracks Charles to the keg and into the kitchen and then Charles gets a text and disappears.

Erik waits, pretending to listen to Janos, for ten long minutes. He waits pretending he's not waiting, and finally convinces himself that if he just absently stumbles upon Charles, he can pretend it was an accident, that it has nothing to do with Erik's weird obsession, that Erik totally isn't a stalker.

Charles isn't in the kitchen or the hall. Erik grabs an abandoned hoodie from the cardboard box by the door and heads outside. Charles is on the back porch despite the chill. He's sitting on the steps alone and holding his phone in his hands. 

He's crying, which is the real surprise.

Erik approaches with caution. He's not good with people crying. Or, well, showing most emotions, really. Actually, he could probably leave "crying" off all together and say, without pause or doubt, that he's not good with people. Watching Charles sniffle is tearing him up inside, though. He just wants to fix whatever's wrong, which puts Charles on a very short list of people whom Erik puts above himself.

He doesn't want to think about that now, but standing in the cold and watching Charles' shoulders shake, his choices for what to think about are limited and they all suck.

"Hey," he says quietly. His previously concocted story about stumbling upon Charles accidentally disappears. "You okay?"

Charles glances over his shoulder. He wipes discreetly at his eyes and offers Erik a wry smile.

"I've had worse," he says, which isn't really an answer. "I'm sorry I disappeared. My sister texted and we got into it a bit." 

Erik sits down next to him. They're close enough that he can feel the heat of Charles' body and see him shivering.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Erik asks.

"Not particularly." Charles is good at talking when he needs to as soon as Erik makes it clear he's willing to listen. He's good at making Erik talk, too. Erik wants to take Charles at his word, here, but he can't bring himself to leave Charles sitting outside on his own, even if there's a party inside the he theoretically should be a part of. 

He can stay and not talk. That was alright, wasn't it? That can be a friend thing. Or he can stay and they can talk about something else. School or...something.

Charles is shivering. Of course he is--it's autumn and they're sitting outside in the middle of the night. Erik unzips his hoodie and starts to wiggle out of it, but Charles takes his hand, halting his progress.

"It's freezing," Charles says. "If you take off your coat than _you'll_ be cold. We should just go back to the party."

He doesn't look like he wants to go back to the party. Erik is terrible at all of this.

But he could--no. That's just...excessively gross. The kind of gross PDA that makes him roll his eyes on buses. Charles isn't his boyfriend, they're not dating, they're not even hooking up. But they're not on a bus, they're sitting out back and no one else is here to see them and it's _cold_ and Erik likes being close to Charles and--

He shakes off Charles' hand and pulls one arm out of his sweatshirt. It's overly large, and Erik is skinny enough that it hangs off of him anyway. Plus, it's from the left-behind bin. Who cares of it gets stretched out? He slides closer to Charles, close enough that they're pressed all the way together along their side, and wraps his now bare arm around Charles' waist. He holds out the end of the sweater.

"Don't laugh," he warns. "I know this is like...stupidly twee."

Charles grins up at him and slides his arm into the hoodie, pushing even closer to Erik and tugging the side of the sweatshirt around, cocooning them in.

"It's not twee," Charles says. "Twee is corny!sweet. This is just...sweet."

He gives Erik another smile--a smaller, more intimate one--and rests his head on Erik's shoulder. Erik swallows hard and then leans his head against Charles' and fists his hand in the fabric of Charles shirt, tightening their embrace and forgetting about all the reasons this is a bad idea.


End file.
